Hate Me
by acquiesce-my-ascendancy
Summary: I've kind of been throwing around this idea for a while. Of Bruce experimenting on himself, still in hopes of finding a cure for himself, and Clint being unhappy with it. Like, it's a sort of addiction, because it's very plausible in that way.


_**If you're sleeping, are you dreaming,  
>if you're dreaming are you dreaming of me.<strong>_

It was a morning like any other morning, and Bruce Banner can't pinpoint exactly the moment when it happened, when things began to click out of place, the gears of his mind beginning to shut down from all logical judgement, and give in to that more primitive state of mind. But he's pretty sure it began somewhere with Clint Barton, skimming along the lines of, "You're not a monster, Bruce."

_**I have to block out thoughts of you,  
>so that I don't lose my head.<strong>_

The dangling chain in front of his face was the more than a bit distracting, and Bruce clenched his teeth, "What, Tony?" he managed, glaring up at the smirking philanthropist with fiery green eyes.

"Don't hulk-out," Tony said, holding his hands out as if in surrender, which only managed to further irritate him. "I come bearing gifts."

"What is it, Christmas?"

"A little birdie told us it's your birthday. And, your wife's gone on mission-" this earned Iron Man a none-too-pleasant look, but he continued all the same, "-so I'm playing messenger boy." dropping the necklace into Bruce's hand with a muttered 'happy birthday', he walked away, leaving the doctor to his conflicting thoughts.

_**There's a burning in my pride,  
>a nervous bleeding in my brain.<strong>_

"It's no use, you know," Clint's words singed Bruce's esteem but bore nothing but the kindest intent in mind. "you told me yourself, you've tried ev-"

Bruce was quick to interrupt, "No, not everything!" nearly knocking over the carefully set up vials in the process, he hurried across to another table, mind a whirl. Desperation.

The needle punctured, and by now Bruce is used to the prick and chill of fluid, but minutes go by and there's no noticeable result, though this trade has taught him nothing if not patience, the Hulk has not mastered it yet, and Bruce was glad Clint had left. He didn't want him to see.

_**An ounce of peace is all I want for you.  
>Will you never call again?<strong>_

Bruce has grown accustomed to the fact that in this lifetime, he'll more than likely not have anything too nice, for too long, and he can't seem to blame anyone but himself for this fate. Not even enough to argue with it.

"Do you think I need you?" Bruce slammed his hands down on the hard oak table, heart already pulsating within the confines of his chest, veins throbbing, and it's taking every ounce of restrain to hold back now.

"Whatever's left of you." Clint retaliated, taking steps backwards towards the door, though the last thing he wants to do is leave the raging man alone - he has to think of his own safety, these experiments weren't good for Bruce, they never were and the more desperate the doctor got, the worse resulted. There wasn't much more they could take.

_**Hate me in ways hard to swallow.  
>Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you.<strong>_

It's more formal meetings on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then training on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Testing on Saturdays, and then if they're lucky they get Sunday off. One less day of awkwardly avoiding eye contact with a certain charming archer sitting on the exact opposite end of the table, clearly feeling somewhat mutual about it all.

Bruce couldn't blame him though, he'd brought it all on himself, and Tony Stark decided it'd be funny to mention it every other meeting when no one was around, to gorge the hulk's reaction. Apparently he was never displeased.

_**The one thing that always tore us apart  
>is the one thing I won't touch again<strong>_

The silence was become deafening, and sometimes Bruce found himself looking at his phone subconsciously every five minutes because he could almost swear he felt it vibrate in his pocket, and each time he's almost sure it's him. When he's being honest with himself, he knows it's for the best this way - the not talking, Clint is safer, and maybe even happier, this way. He could try selfless.

_**So I'll drive so fucking far away that I never cross your mind,  
>And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind.<strong>_

"Do you think I want this? Not talking to you? This whole thing we're doing, we're doing it for you - whatever you're reasoning is behind it, is..beyond me, but..." Clint quirked an eyebrow up at him, it feels like the first time they've actually talked in a few good bad weeks aside from the necessary, and it turned out all they had to talk about was their lack of talking and that made for rather poor conversation. But Nick had made it very clear that no high school romances or teeny girl crushes were going to come between the team, that they needed to be above all that. But it had never stopped Clint and Bruce from their stolen kisses during breaks.

_**And like a baby boy I never was a man,  
>until I saw your blue eyes cry and held your face in my hands<strong>_

Bruce didn't speak. Clint didn't speak. They didn't have to, and being honest neither of them knew quite what to say, so they allowed actions to take control of that. No mushy-gushy make ups, though Bruce may have cried a bit, Clint will find a creative way to tease him for it later. Much later, of course, there's a time and a place for everything.

_**If you're dreaming are you dreaming of me.  
>I can't believe you actually picked me.<strong>_


End file.
